Thus much of detail arranged, General Lee was, for the present, detained in Richmond by the President, as consulting and organizing officer; and to aid the Adjutant-General—Samuel Cooper, senior general of the five—in the location of armies, distribution of troops, and assignment of officers. General Lee's perfect knowledge of the materiel of the Virginia army and of the topographical features of the state, peculiarly fitted him for this work; but every step was taken subject to the decision of Mr. Davis himself. The appointments of officers, the distribution of troops—in fact, the minuti? of the War Department—were managed by him in person.

He seemed fully alive to the vital importance of making the groundwork of the military system solid and smooth. Real preparations had begun so late that only the strong hand could now avail; and though Mr. Walker still held the empty portfolio of the secretaryship, he, and the army, and the country knew who, in fact, did the work. But to do Mr. Davis justice, he did not make his fantoccini suffer if he pulled the wires the wrong way. He was not only President and secretary of five departments—which naturally caused some errors; but that spice of the dictator in him made him quite willing to shoulder the responsibilities of all the positions.

Now, as in Montgomery, I wondered that the frail body—that could not bend—did not break beneath the load of anxiety and bodily labor he imposed upon it. His energy and industry were untiring; and every afternoon the declining sun found him in the saddle, inspecting and reviewing the troops, at one of the many camps near town. Sometimes the hard, stolid face of the Postmaster-General appeared at his side; again Senator Wigfall galloped along, with his pants stuck in his boots and seeming to enjoy the saddle much more than the curule chair; and often "Little Jeff"—the Benjamin of Mr. Davis' household—trotted at his side. But there was never a suite, seldom a courier; and wherever he went, plain, stirring syllables of cheer—and strong, grave words of incentive—dropped from his lips among the soldiery. They were treasured as the truth, too, by that rough auditory; for as yet, Mr. Davis was in the zenith of his popularity—a perfect idol with army and people. The first sight of the tall, erect figure, swaying so easily to the action of the powerful gray, was a signal for the wildest cheers from the camps; and the people in the streets raised their hats and stood uncovered while the representative man passed.

Cavil, jealousy and partisan intrigue, in which he and the cause finally went down together, had not yet done their work. There were many murmurers at real, many growlers at supposed, errors; but no opposition party—truer to itself and its interests than to the cause—had yet been organized on a basis strong enough to defy and thwart "the man."

Every one connected with the government remarked the vast difference of its reception by the Richmond and Montgomery people. The Alabamians came forward with decision and alacrity to offer their lives and fortunes to the cause. They made any sacrifices to the government, as such; but, privately, they regarded the individuals connected with it as social brigands come to rob their society of all that was good and pure in it.

Richmond, on the contrary, having given the invitation, made the best of it when accepted. The people united in sincere effort to show a whole-souled hospitality to all strangers deserving of it. Gentlemen in the government were received with frank and free-handed kindness; and even a wretch, who had wintered in the shade of the Washington upas, was allowed to flutter about and not be gunned for by the double-barreled spectacles of every respectable dowager!

Richmond was always a great place for excitements; but with the great addition of inflammable material recently, it required but a very small spark to raise a roaring, if not dangerous, flame.

On a bright Sunday in April, when

"The beams of God's own hallowed day

Had painted every spire with gold,

And, calling sinful men to pray,

Long, loud and deep the bell had tolled"—

the citizens were worshipping quietly and a peaceful stillness reigned everywhere. Suddenly, as if a rocket had gone up, the rumor flew from mouth to mouth that the "Pawnee" was steaming up the river to shell the city. The congregations, not waiting to be dismissed, rushed from the churches with a single impulse; the alarm bell in the Square pealed out with a frightened chime. For once, even the women of Richmond were alarmed. The whole population flocked toward "Rocketts"—every eye strained to catch a first glimpse of the terrible monster approaching so rapidly. Old and young men, in Sunday attire, hastened along with rusty muskets and neat "Mantons" on their shoulders; groups of bareheaded ladies were at the corners, asking the news and repeating every fear-invented tale; and more than one of the "solid men" was seen with hand-baskets, loaded with rock, to dam the river! Late in the evening, the veterans of six hours were dismissed, it turning out that there was no cause whatever for the alarm; and when after events showed them that vessel—so battered and badgered by the river batteries—"Pawnee Sunday" became a by-word among the citizens.

Richmond was not cosmopolitan in her habits or ideas, and there was, in some quarters, a vague, lingering suspicion as to the result of the experiment; but the society felt that the government was its guest, and as such was to be honored. The city itself was a small one, the society was general and provincial; and there was in it a sort of brotherly-love tone that struck a stranger, at first, as very curious. This was, in a great measure, attributable to the fact that the social circle had been for years a constant quantity, and everybody in it had known everybody else since childhood.

The men, as a general thing, were very cordial to the strangers, and some very delightful and some very odd acquaintances were made among them. Chief among the latter was one, whom we may call—as he would say "for euphony"—Will Wyatt; the most perfect specimen of the genus man-about-town in the city. He was very young, with wealth, a pleasing exterior, and an absolute greed for society. His naturally good mind had been very prettily cultivated—by himself rather than his masters—and he had traveled just enough to understand, without despising, the weaknesses of his compatriots. He and the omniscient Styles were fast friends, and a card to Wyatt, signed "Fondly thine own, S. S.," had done the business for me. His house, horses and friends were all at my service; and in the few intervals that anxiety and duty left for ennui, he effectually drove the monster off.

"I'm devilish sorry, old man," he said, one day, after we got well acquainted, "that there's nothing going on in the social line. drop in on me at six, to dinner; and I'll show you a clever fellow or two, and maybe have some music. You understand, my dear boy, we don't entertain now. After all, it's so late in the season there'd be little doing in peace times; but this infernal war has smashed us up completely. Getting your nose red taking leave of your tender family is the only style they vote at all nobby now—à diner!"

The dinner and music at Wyatt's were not warlike—and particularly was the wine not of that description; but the men were. Over cigars, the conversation turned upon the organization of the army; and, accustomed as I was to seeing "the best men in the ranks," the way these young bloods talked rather astounded me.

"Private in 'Co. F,'" answered John C. to my query—he represented one of the finest estates on the river—"You've heard of 'F,' of course. We hang by the old company. Wyatt has just refused a captaincy of engineers to stick as third corporal."

"Neat that, in John," put in Wyatt, "when he was offered the majority of a regiment of cavalry and refused it to stay in."

"And why not?" said George H. shortly. "Pass the Madeira, Will. I wouldn't give my place in 'F' for the best majority going. As far as that goes it's a mere matter of taste, I know. But the fact is, if we of the old organizations dodge our duty now by hunting commissions, how can we hope that the people will come to time promptly?" George H. had a quarter of a million to his credit, and was an only son—"Now, I think Bev did a foolish thing not to take his regiment when Uncle Jeff offered him the commission."

"I don't see it," responded Beverly I. in an aggrieved tone. "You fellows in 'F' were down on your captain when he took his colonelcy; and I'm as proud of my junior lieutenancy in the old First, as if I commanded 'F' company itself!"

"But is it usual," I queried, "for you gentlemen to refuse promotion when offered—I don't mean to not seek it—to remain with your old companies? Would you stay in the ranks as a private when as a captain or major you might do better service?"

"Peutêtre for the present," responded Wyatt—"Don't misunderstand us; we're not riding at windmills, and I sincerely hope you'll see us all with wreaths on our collars yet. But there's a tacit agreement that just now we can do more good in the ranks than anywhere else. For myself, I don't delight in drill and dirt, and don't endorse that sentimental bosh about the 'post of honor.' But our duty is where we can do most good, and our example will decide many doubtful ones and shame the laggard."

"A............